Guilty Until Proven Innocent
by Rix
Summary: AUHBP Early in their 6th year Harry, Ron, Neville, Justin, and Luna are accused of murder. Four years later the truth is revealed and they are asked to return, but none of them are truly the same, and new arrivals in Hogwarts only complicate matters. R
1. Betrayal

Revision! Revision! Revision!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter etc. etc. etc.

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, and adult situations

Chapter One

* * *

Green eyes glared angrily at the moon from the window of a dingy East London apartment. Remus would be transforming alone tonight, again. Remus would be howling in pain, probably chained or locked up somewhere, if he was still alive. He damn well had better be alive, the young man thought. _If I ever go back to Hogwarts only to find that the Moony has been taken down, Dumbledore will have Hell to pay. _Assuming Harry ever saw Dumbledore again. Right then it was hard to imagine that ever happening. The truth of his innocence and that of the others coming to light was so unlikely to him that he could not even dream of it. He couldn't imagine what Dumbledore would say to them to make things better. Nothing could make it better. Betrayal and distrust were knives that cut deep. When the world turned on their savior and threw him to the wolves could he ever really want to turn back and save them from themselves? Was such forgiveness and self-sacrifice truly humanly possible? Harry wasn't sure.

Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to go back to Hogwarts and resume his classes like nothing had ever happened. He didn't want to be filled with such dark emotions as hate, and anger, and sadness, and regret, nor shame, nor helplessness, nor fear.

His hate froze in his heart and mind for Tom Riddle, whom Harry knew to be the source of this entire cluster-fuck. Voldemort (though Harry refused to call him even that anymore) had set him and his friends up without a doubt. The man wanted to make a point of how many ways he could destroy the boy who lived. He sent nightmares displaying the deaths of Harry's loved ones that were impossible for Harry to label. Real, or fake? He could never tell. He had lost count of how many times Remus, Ron, and Hermione had died now, and the rest of the Weasleys, and Neville, and a slew of people he didn't know. More than any of them he saw Dumbledore. He watched them all die over and over and over again, deaths quick and painless or slow and excruciating.

Harry didn't like feeling that hate. He didn't like the cold stillness it washed him in. He didn't like seeing the people he cared for die time and time again, making him hate even more. Most of all he didn't like how he felt less for Dumbledore's death than for people he didn't even know. He didn't like how his perfectly justifiable anger at Albus Dumbledore was being used to make him hate himself. Because even angry as he was, hurt as he was, the Headmaster's safety still mattered to him. He didn't like how it felt like the man shouldn't matter. He didn't like how he was often angrier at himself for caring than he was at the old man who condemned him

On that wretched day, Albus Dumbledore had done nothing to help them. He had followed the precession of Aurors and Ministry officials solemnly, but that was all. The corridors had been lined with people, all shouting obscenities and sobbing onto each other's shoulders. Harry had taken it silently with his head held high, for as long as he could bear; then he'd began cursing them all back. Not with magic, but in Parsletounge, and that raging, frantic hissing was all it had taken for the world to declare him You-Know-Who's rival, the next Dark Lord. Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Justin Finch-Fetchley were his merry band of rebels. If left to their own devices how many other children would die? For the sake of the school the Headmaster had to get rid of them. He dare not stand up for them when none of them had an alibi better than 'I can't remember where I was.' Admittedly, if he had he would have been replaced immediately.

That night all five teenagers had been chained together as they walked through the entrance hall and out onto the grounds. Ron had been shouting their innocence at first, but was soon overcome the futility of it all, and began screaming inanely about traitors and being framed as he jerked the other four of them in all directions. Neville had been crying and red faced, as they walked the hallways, glaring defiantly ahead as best he could having ended up next to Ron, and being jerked around the most. Harry was next to him, in the center, glowering - and hissing in the end. Luna was next to him, tears streaming down her face, her eyes glazed and unfocused. She'd retreated as far as she could without getting lost, and Justin was on the end, pale, shaking, and obviously in shock, though no one seemed to care.

Remus on the other hand, Remus had been there, at the very end. He'd run through the main doors to the castle just after the parade had turned the corner, pale and glaring, growling. Despite it being two weeks to the full moon, and usually his most stable time of the month, he was snarling, his eyes were tinted amber. And his hands were shaped to claws, ready to rip and tear despite there being fingernails and nothing sharper on his fingertips.

The sight of him had quieted those in the area almost immediately, and his low, threatening voice had rung through the hall. The one adult to defend them (though Hermione and various others had been yelling and trying in vain to give them hugs of reassurance), and truly the only one left to trust in Harry's mind. Everybody else's parents had been there staring betrayed or accusingly. Neville's Gran had been as imposing and stone-faced as ever. But _Harry's _parent had defended. And that had been the last time the green eyed boy cried. Not once since then, when a furious hiss died on his lips and tears streamed down his face and he screamed for Moony to help him, had he cried.

They'd escaped the Aurors of course. Although none of them were really sure what had been going on that night, they had managed to blast their way out of their restraining compartment with a powerful burst of accidental magic and into the one holding their trunks. Without a thought or glance to each other they gathered their most valued items and any and all money they had into their school bags, grabbed each other to steady themselves and disappeared.

After a few disconcerting moments they recognized their destination as an alley next to Gringotts in Diagon Alley, and quickly ran inside, before word of their arrest could be spread. Nobody really cared to wonder how they had gotten away until much later when it was decided that accidental magic must have been the cause. None of them knew how to apparate of course, so it was the only logical explanation.

It was blessing and nothing more. Though Luna once mused to Harry that one of them could have had a portkey and not known about it. "Perhaps one of us made one in a dream and carried it with us."

They left less than an hour later with several thousand muggle pounds and a third that amount in galleons. Harry and Neville immediately took charge and everyone was rushing to shops to gather any supplies they might need as quickly as possible. Luna ran to Florish and Blotts, quite certain that they would need to continue their educations, while Ron acquired enchanted backpacks. Justin bought a rather large wizard's tent incase they needed to hide out in the middle of nowhere, Neville guessed everyone's sizes for temporary muggle clothing, and Harry waited in the alley watching their things, and concocting a very sketchy plan. They fled, found an empty alley two blocks from Charringcross Road, and distributed their purchases before catching a bus and getting as far away as they could.

It hadn't taken them long, really, to decide that London was far safer than the country. In the country they'd have to keep moving in order to go unnoticed. In London they just another little band of homeless kids, and that suited them all just fine. They would be invisible and anonymous, merely extras in the background.

Luna got decent money every now and then singing in karaoke contests held by a run down club just a mile away, and Harry sold a few drawings to various people: an art store, a tattoo shop where a large man with a taste for good art worked and offered to give Harry and his friends free piercings if they wanted them, and a number of their neighbors - including a little old lady who just adored Harry's pictures of Hedwig, Errol, and Pig. He also did some work for an old businessman that he was reluctant to speak of.

Neville often took the bus out to the suburbs where he offered to weed people's gardens for a small price, and Ron had taken to making the commute to the fish yard (a decision which greatly annoyed his flat mates because he came home smelling strongly of fish a little too frequently for their tastes).

Justin unofficially worked at the local supermarket moving boxes off and onto trucks (while nicking bits of food now and then). It was decided early on that they would save their money for emergencies, which were thankfully, uncommon, but every now and then they were forced to dig out a few pounds to help with the rent. For the most part all was well. That is until they began to go their separate ways.

Ron was the first to go. One of other fish market frequenters was looking for a flat mate and the opportunity of escape was far too inviting. The others hadn't complained and immediately saw the benefits of distancing them selves from each other. If one of them were caught and Veritaserum used none of them really wanted to rat out the others, nor did they want to be ratted out.

Neville went next, having won the favor of an old woman with an award winning garden (or so Neville said). She'd been doting on the boy ever since he'd asked how she kept her begonias in such good condition despite the cold.

Luna had found a small club near Charringcross Road owned by a young woman who was willing to pay her a better salary, and rent her a room. It was going to be tight, but Luna thought she could find a job in one of the nearby restaurants for the opportunity to be so near the Leaky Cauldron. She was of the opinion that it would be best to keep an eye on the place and have Diagon Alley at a properly disguised hand.

By his birthday, Harry and Justin were the only two left in the old apartment, and their money alone couldn't pay the rent.

Justin took the tent, determined to sell it to a second-hand shop in Diagon Alley, and get a smaller single person tent to replace it with. He'd decided to cross the channel and take his chances on the continent. The tent would come in handy if he needed to travel on foot. Harry took a bedroll and a pillow out of the tent before the other boy left, and told the landlord they were leaving.

* * *

Luna stared thoughtfully out the window of her bedroom. It was a small and dirty window, but it looked right onto the Leaky Cauldron's muggle doorway, and that was why she'd agreed to room with Amy. She didn't like the girl, but Jessica's window looked into an alley, and the alley was no where near as interesting as the pub. Luckily for her, Amy didn't like having her bed under the window so she was in her own space when she decided to watch.

The pub was especially interesting today, and Luna wondered why. When the crowd died down she'd get dressed, do her make-up and cross the street with a book so she looked unobtrusive as she eavesdropped. But for now it was enough to watch and wonder. Maybe Fudge had let his heliopaths loose, or maybe Dumbledore had finally offed Moldy-Git…She allowed her self to dream awhile before dismissing the thought. It was Harry who'd do that after all, which is really a horrible thing to think, but all things considered it _was_ hard not too. Harry Potter was the only person to ever escape from Lord Voldemort unharmed. An impressive feat.

Luna had yet to actually have anyone confirm her suspicions, but she was fairly certain Cornelius Fudge was no longer the Minister of Magic. Months, and months ago, Luna had overheard someone talking about how glad they were that Fudge was gone. At least she thought so, she'd just left and the door had been nearly shut behind her.

After breakfast, Luna took a shower, and got dressed. Just as she was deciding which book to take with her (Occlusion Confusion by Kimberly Collindiffer or Becoming One with Your Inner Muggle by Arthur Kanin) she heard a heart-wrenchingly familiar sound. Blinking in surprise, she put her books back in the backpack they'd come from and turned around. There was an owl tapping on her window.

* * *

Remus Lupin sighed as he reached the gargoyle. He really did not want to talk to the headmaster at the moment, but he didn't really have a choice. The man was making a grievous error, and Remus would not allow this one, not when the last concerning the family in question had had such horrible consequences.

Remus had been reluctant to hide the situation from 'the trio of miracles' about Harry Potter, and now that the truth about the young man had come out, he would not allow Dumbledore to do what he was planning to do. If Harry were to come back to Hogwarts, as his self-appointed godfather (after Sirius that is, but Sirius hadn't been there had he?), Remus would not, could not allow Albus to leave his godson in the dark.

Using those thoughts to add some much needed steel to his back bone, the werewolf gave the password ("war heads") and began climbing the stairs to the Headmaster's Office. He reapplied that steel as he raised his hand, and heard a nearly cheerful "come in" before his knuckles hit the wood.

"Hello, Albus," he said as he entered the room. The aging headmaster was sitting behind his large desk, quill in hand, and a large stack of parchment before him.

"Hello, hello, Remus. How may I help you today? Care for a lemon drop? Some tea perhaps?" Clearly Albus was focusing on the up-side of yesterday's shocking news. Much as Remus wished he could do the same, Harry Potter had not murdered Crabbe and Goyle Jr.'s, and was now who knows where. It was the second part of that sentence that was upsetting. He had known the first all along.

Dumbledore didn't deserve to be so happy about this. He should have been lamenting his mistakes, wallowing in despair and wondering what Harry was going to do to him.

Calmly as he could, Remus replied, "I came to talk to you, and no thank you - on both accounts."

The other man must have picked up on the underlying tone in his former student's voice as he quickly put down the quill, and sobered. "And what is it you have come to talk to me about?" he asked quietly.

With a sigh, Remus began, "Albus, I know that you think it would be a nice surprise for all involved, to have Harry arrive in the Great Hall for Christmas without any idea of what he'll find, but I beg to differ.

This is big news Albus." He continued imploringly. "This is important, this is what Harry has always dreamed of, I'm sure, and he will need time to prepare for the shock of seeing Lily and James." Albus opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced with a hand.

"With all due respect, sir, Harry is not likely to take kindly to any of us after what happened -- you least of all, really. And to withhold something like this…Albus, do you realize just how much he's already lost because you decided to withhold information for his own good? Aside from the prophecy, he might have actually tried to learn Occlumency if he'd known why you wanted him to learn it. He might not have minded Snape so much if you had only told him _why_ he was learning it from _him_. And it's partially because he didn't learn Occlumency that Sirius died.

"And, again, disregarding all that, you accused him of _murder_!" Remus' ended that sentence in a yell despite all he had done to control it. "He's not likely to trust you at all anymore, Albus," he continued calmly, but his voice cracked and thickened as he voiced his next thought.

"And really, if he's not dead by now I'd be surprised if he came back. You don't want to loose whatever trust he may display in returning. I _advise _you to tell Harry about his parents, but I am telling them about Harry. And I almost hope they tear you apart, because if Harry's still Harry, he won't" And with that the werewolf stood and left with the dredges of his self control, greatly needing to hit something.

As he wandered the hallways glowering, he wondered who he would tell first, and quickly settled for Sirius. There wouldn't be near as much to say there, and Sirius would jump him for sure. He would be able to hit Padfoot without guilt if Paddy were hitting him back.

* * *

Neville laughed in glee, reading the letter. Just five minutes ago, an extremely ruffled and obviously confused owl had arrived at the small, ground-level basement window. When he saw the Hogwarts crest around the bird's ankle, he almost hadn't let it in. Now, though the round faced young man was glad he had.

With a joyful whoop, he tore a piece of paper out of his journal, grabbed a pen, and settled down to write the requested reply.

* * *

The bloody bird was _still_ there. It hadn't left yet, and Ron was becoming annoyed. There was no bloody way in hell he was going to accept a letter from Dumbledore, but the bird hadn't moved in the last hour. And his eyes were getting tired.

"You stubborn, bloody _prat_!" Cassie exclaimed hitting him with a rolled up newspaper. "You've been staring at the bird since it showed up. Are you going to take the letter, or not?"

"No way am I going to take that thing!" he said, nearly shouting as he turned to look at his girlfriend and flat mate. "It's probably covered in tracking spells."

The blonde glared at his reasoning, then smiled and tapped her hand with the rolled up newspaper/weapon.

"What do you know" he asked suspiciously, "that I don't?"

She didn't say anything, but shoved the newspaper into his hands, and sat back on the couch, arms and legs crossed, with a smirk the size of Britain. Either it was something very good, and she was acting like that because even when he was the one to take the paper and pay the owl, he never once glanced at the headlines or read anything it contained, or there was nothing, and she just felt like being an arse.

Most of the time she felt like being an arse, so Ron had no reason to suspect the former.

However, when she continued to stare at him with that ever so maddening smirk, he growled and unrolled the paper. With a 'happy now' glance (that was responded with an 'in a moment' raise of the eyebrow) he read, and promptly fainted.

Cassie smiled softly as the tall, somewhat imposing, red head fell off his stool, and moved to the window. Not in any real hurry she leaned against the sill for a moment, staring at the owl perched on the fire escape rail.

"You'd better bring good stuff, you bloody bird," she whispered. The owl only ruffled its feathers and continued to sit, dignified and vain, until she opened the window.

* * *

Justin ran over to the tree the second he saw the tawny nocturnal bird sitting amongst the reddening leaves. Once he noticed the seal on the envelope however he paused, not sure if he really wanted to open it. He'd seen the Daily Prophet (Headlined: _Boy-Who-Lived and Co. Framed! Frantic Ministry and Albus Dumbledore Beg Forgiveness_), but he couldn't really think of what Dumbledore might have to say other than 'I'm sorry.' But Justin was certain he didn't want to hear that. It wouldn't really mean anything to hear that, he thought.

With a sigh, the young man glanced down at his watch to find that his lunch was almost over. With a withering, wary glance at the owl he turned around.

"Go stay in the barn," he said to the bird. "I'll be up there later to give my reply."

* * *

Luna smiled her trademark dreamy smile when she reached the end of her letter.

It appeared she wouldn't need to be unobtrusive today. She smiled at the thought as she picked out some more 'her' clothing. She hadn't worn anything that truly suited her in years, and she was glad to finally come out of hiding. Happily bouncing from foot to foot, Luna switched shirts and spent ten minutes digging out her radish earrings and bronze vault key.

She had some shopping to do!

* * *

So, what do you guys think? This must be the third time I've posted a version of this story, but I still like it, it's still collecting dust on my hard drive, and it's still unfinished, so I figured what the hell! Review!!!! 


	2. Invitations

Disclaimer: It's in chapter one, and it's the only one you're getting.

Warnings: See above. If anything especially horrifying comes up I'll warn you at the beginning of the chapter.

Chapter Two

* * *

Harry stared at the letter in front of him, for the eighth time that day, with a hand in his hair, ready to pull. It took all he had to rein in the tears threatening to spill. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't. Not when he didn't know why he was crying in the first place.

There was relief there, yes, but that wasn't all he felt. Of course, anger was high on his list of feelings, there was more though, and he didn't really want to analyze those. Shame was prominent. And that was where he stopped. He didn't want to dig any deeper than shame. Things only got worse from there down, he was sure.

But he knew he would go. He had to go, if only to see Remus, and Hermione. And if Remus weren't there Dumbledore would pay. He'd decided that hours ago, before the full moon had set, and the letter arrived.

Hermione had also spoken for him. She didn't where he'd been that night either, but she had believed them when he and Ron and claimed ignorant. They didn't know where they'd been. That was the truth. He couldn't wait to talk to her again. And if The Boss tried to kill him for leaving, then so be it. Harry could survive. It was almost what he was born to do, it seemed. Besides that, he certainly wasn't going to stay Evan Jameson for any longer, contract and blackmail be damned. He'd break the contract, and blackmail was officially useless; the best kind of blackmail.

The shame, though; he would have to deal with that eventually, they would make sure of it. Times like this made Harry wish he'd never taken a walk through the park in his life.

Harry laughed cynically and shook his head at the thought. He'd wished the same thing everyday, for the past three years. He wished it so bad it hurt. But more so, he wished he had nothing to be ashamed of. God did he wish that! Hermione would kill him when she found out, and she _would_ find out. You really can't keep the big things from your friends after all (especially not friends like 'Mione…), and being a whore was a pretty fucking big deal.

* * *

Sirius was growling when James finally found him. It was a welcome sight. Padfoot did things like that, acted more like a dog than a human when his emotions ran high. Sirius hadn't been acting much like himself lately, and so James was grateful for something so familiar. Everyone had decided the deviances in his character were side effects of falling through The Veil. James didn't really know about that, nor did he care. His friend was different, but so was everything and everyone else. Sirius was a tame change, really.

Remus, for example, had really changed. James still missed his old friend sometimes. He still loved the man like a brother, but there were some things that time couldn't give back. And the old wolf had nearly twenty years on him now.

Sirius emitted a pathetical human-ish snarl and jerked his shoulder from James' hand. When he turned around and saw who was there, however the anger quickly dissipated. There was no reason to be mad at his old friend. James wasn't the cause of this, he reminded himself with a mental whisper.

James opened his mouth, and tried to speak. The words were stuck. He wanted to ask Sirius about his son, who's life he, the boy's father, had missed, but the words wouldn't come.

But people hadn't called Sirius Black and James Potter brothers for no reason. They were close, closer than brothers ever could become. James might not have understood what Sirius went through at his own home, but he had opened his home to the other boy when he had no where to go. No, Sirius thought, he'd always had somewhere to go. There had never been any doubt in his mind, when he'd been kicked out, of where to go. He'd grabbed his things, and flooed straight to the Potter's.

When James' parent had died Sirius had been there to turn to, and to cry with. He'd been there to make meaningless, sometimes obscene jokes that called a smile, he'd been there to plan a new life with, and he'd been there to take over funeral arrangements when it all become too much. He'd never had to ask how James felt. He'd felt it too.

"He lived," he said. That was all he needed to hear, and James' legs gave out underneath him. Numb, he slouched against the side of his friend's armchair and gathered his knees to his chest.

"How's Lily?"

"Asleep," he whispered, eyes unfocused. "She cried herself to sleep, but I couldn't."

They stretched into a silence that was dark with shadows and questions.

No, James hadn't been able to sleep. He didn't know his son, he'd thought, clinging to the thought - the fact. For all he knew, his son was a prime candidate. Maybe he looked the part of an up and coming Dark Lord. _Dear God, _he had thought, the despair coursing through him, _Please, please let him look the part. _

Because if Harry Potter, looked and acted like your average teenage boy, he didn't know if he could bring himself to love his friends anymore.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore did not like being wrong. Luckily he was very rarely wrong. Unfortunately, when he was wrong, because he played with, and tried to protect, the lives of others so often, it was usually a monumental catastrophe.

The fate of Harry Potter and his friends was certainly his largest mistake to date, and it pained his heart to think so. So many of his mistakes concerned Harry. Life was truly unfair, and Fate a cruel mistress to the poor boy.

The cynical part of the aging man's brain made a rare appearance as he thought the word 'boy' in accordance to Harry Potter. Harry Potter would be a boy no longer - if he ever really was much of one in the first place. The old codger that he was had really screwed up this time hadn't he? Oh, yes he had. He had driven away such a fine young man. A young man he truly cared about.

With a sigh, Albus pushed the thought away (it would do no good now, really), and dug through a desk drawer for his emergency bag of lemon drops. His other two bags were gone already.

Popping the little yellow candies into his mouth, the headmaster found himself wishing that he'd been more forward in taking Remus Lupin's advice. He had, he just hadn't been specific in the letter, and now he was worried that veiled words might do more harm than good.

* * *

Hermione Granger (soon to be Conner) was rushing about the apartment frantically packing, and either unaware of, or steadfastly ignoring, her fiancé, Sam. Sam, after having been nearly run over twice, was sitting on a stool in the corner of the dining room, waiting for the young woman to slow down enough to allow for questions. He had plenty of questions.

'Mione had received her newspaper (Sam loved that damned thing. The pictures moved! It was Brilliant!) glanced at the headline, squealed (a very un-Hermione thing to do, that had begun his worries) and begun babbling (a very Hermione thing to do that had him feeling somewhat better) about her brothers Ron and Harry.

Sam only had the barest of information on Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, but he knew they'd been accused of the murder of two of their classmates. A thought that really did have him worried for his frizzy haired love. She had insisted they were innocent with an obsessive air although she had no proof to back up this statement. Hermione Granger didn't usually do that.

She said she knew the two so well that she didn't need proof. She felt it, even though she never went on feelings only. She was a very sensible girl. She said she'd do the same for him, because she felt she knew him just as well. She had seen their faces, she said, when they told the Minister that they didn't know where they'd been that night. They hadn't lied. She _knew_ they hadn't. She'd seen their faces.

The deviation from her normal, sensible, reasonable self concerning her friends, who she _knew _were innocent, only made him love her more. That didn't mean he wasn't worried.

Not five minutes after the newspaper arrived, so did another owl. Hermione came at him so fast, the poor bird tried to fly away, only to be grabbed roughly by the leg. Prize in hand, she let the bird go, and it was out the window without a second to spare. He didn't blame it for not waiting for a reply.

It took her seconds to scan the letter, squeal again (he was really getting worried about that), and then read through it carefully. Three times.

Apparently satisfied with the contents, she ran into the bedroom, and returned with a suitcase. Now scared as well as worried, Sam tried to ask what was going on, only to be roughly pushed to the side, with nary a "sorry." He followed her and tired again twice, but received the same treatment, and it was with a resigned sigh that he retreated to the stool in the corner to watch her throw what appeared to be her entire wardrobe into the magical suitcase.

He wasn't going to get any answers until she was done, apparently.

* * *

Neville looked around his room, and frowned. He'd sent off his reply nearly an hour ago and gone upstairs to explain things to Granny Maggs (as the nice old lady who'd taken him insisted he call her). She'd taken the whole deal in stride, and told him to give everyone at the bloody school a kick in the arse from her, as a Christmas gift, she said.

He had told Dumbledore that he would arrive in two days. Which was good thinking, he thought as he, rather belatedly, observed his things and realized just how much he wanted, and needed, to take with him. He had five potions brewing, and ten different plants in pots upstairs that he wanted Professors Snape and Sprout to look at.

Not to mention, ten notebooks full of notes and loose papers, he'd added.

_Well_, he thought as he considered what type of trunk he would need to buy,_ getting their opinions on this stuff is most of the reason for going. _

And it was true. Aside from Harry Potter and the gang, there were only two people _he _wanted to talk to.

* * *

Justin was frustrated. In one hand he held an _invitation_ from Albus Dumbledore, inviting him to spend Christmas holidays at the school with his family. In the other hand he held and invitation from his girlfriend, Amy, inviting him to spend Christmas Eve with _her_ wonderful family. Really he _could _do both. The question was, did he want to use Amy as an excuse to never go home?

Did he want to go back to the wizarding world?

In all honesty he really wasn't sure.

"ARGH!" He slammed both envelopes onto the floor in front of him. He really wasn't sure.

* * *

Luna felt happier than she had in ages as she skipped through Diagon Alley, radish earrings swaying, bottle cap necklace bouncing. She was attracting stares, she even saw Rita Skeeter trying to push through a crowd at the ice cream shop to get to her. All she'd managed to do, though, was dump her own ice cream cone down her robe.

Luna smiled at the sight, and waved cheerily. She'd have to tell Harry about that when she saw him next. _Yes_, she thought. Harry would like that image.

* * *

Ron was fuming. Cassie was honestly surprised there wasn't smoke coming out of his ears, and had told him so. He had only scoffed, saying he was angry, not drinking a pepper-up. Cassie hadn't gotten his joke, he hadn't gotten hers. And so they were quiet, but it had been two hours, and Cassie was making tea.

She had every intention of dumping a scalding cup right on the prat's head. He didn't know it yet, but he was going to Hogwarts whether he liked it or not.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed chapter two! REVIEW!! 


	3. Arrivals

Chapter Three

* * *

"Why the hell should we go?" he asked in outrage. Cassie was set on going to Hogwarts, she was packed and ready. Ron was _dead_ set on not going, something Cassie would have none of.

"We are going," she stated and paused as if it were all she was going to say. The red head knew different, but it didn't stop him from getting the message. The message didn't stop him from disagreeing. "Because this is too good an opportunity to pass up. I have been saving newspaper clippings for far too long, to_ not _take the chance to shove them in your family's face, _Ronald Weasley_!"

Ron cringed. It was when she used that tone of voice he worried that she might be more closely related to the Prewitts than the Zabini's as she claimed.

"And you're stubborn pride will most certainly _not_ keep me from visiting the school I could never go to!" she added in a most frightening Molly-like voice. Cassie was a second generation squib whose mother had been covertly kicked out of a pureblood family because of her 'defect.' From what he had been able to gather, the family said that she was seriously ill to keep her from Hogwarts and then hired muggle tutors for a few years until she was deemed fit to live on her own in the muggle world. Having been surrounded by Hogwarts alumni she was full of fanciful stories about the school and for years, enjoyed spinning spectacular yarns for her only daughter, hoping against hope that Cassie would be blessed with magic of her own. When the girl's eleventh year came and went with out an invitation they were both crushed.

_Harry'll have a fit about her_, Ron thought as she twisted her slightly large (but still appealing) mouth into a Malfoy or Snape worthy sneer that would have anyone else running scared. But, being the Gryffindor he was, Ron growled merely and retrieved his own suitcase from the hall closet.

* * *

Angela sighed, contemplating the figure that was once again taking up her bed. Reluctant as she was to admit it, Harry Potter was one of the few people who had the ability to strike fear into her very bones. Not that it stopped her from seeing him as often as possible. It was no intent of Harry Potter's that he did this, and if he knew he would surely run out the door apologizing in less than a second, but the boy had the most unnerving eyes. They were his mother's, he said, in a joking voice whenever she laughed about it. Don't blame me! Harry's green orbs were sparkling and sad, yet open somehow – as if he had no secrets; unless one looked closely, that is, or made direct eye contact for more than a second. Then there was nothing but shadows. It was an unnerving trait to say the least.

Disregarding the overwhelming impression that the he could look directly through the eyes and into the soul of anyone who dared to make continued eye contact, the thought of complete openness and sparkling emeralds of innocence veiling a forest of shadows and knowledge almost entirely without a thought or intent to do so was terrifying.

For a more current idea, add to that veiled horrors, and still that odd sparkle of innocence (that, all things considered, _really_ should have died years ago, she felt), all surrounded by thick eyeliner that only made the abnormally bright sheen more pronounced.

And that was all just in the eyes, she thought, slipping into what her friend Jasmine had deemed her _Harry Monologues_. Let's not mention the power that absolutely radiated from Harry Potter's small, lithe body. Whatever spells that group had performed on themselves before separating had caused at least _his_ magic to grow wild. Nothing he did (or so he explained) had stopped that. Not even Occlumency (whatever that was). He had thought it might, considering how it shifted with his emotions, he said, but apparently the magic didn't care whether or not the emotions were shown. It still acted.

Then of course there were his looks. Angela smiled. People would be shocked, she thought. Hell, everyone would be terrified that they'd pushed him over the edge. With his piercing fetish, tattoos and wild hair, he looked a common delinquent. Her mother and step-father were terrified themselves, to say nothing of her three brothers, and none of them knew what the young man she had taken to sneaking into her room every few days had been through. They refused to talk to him civilly at all, yet alone get to actually know how kind and generous he was.

* * *

Sam looked about the Great Hall in glee. He couldn't believe that Hermione had brought him! A lowly muggle like him was being honored with the splendor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at what was apparently considered its best.

There were fairies, _real _fairies flitting about the Hall and perching on any of twelve Christmas trees. Candles floated in the air casting the room in an ethereal glow, and the ceiling was magnificent. There was a fire place on either side of the room, all ablaze, and the decorations! Oh, Sam was in heaven. The Grangers were in heaven, his parents were in heaven (if a bit out of place). Hermione was home, and if Sam weren't so dazzled he'd be in a rage of jealousy.

Instead of raging, Hermione's fiancé put his hand on her shoulder and was about to remind her that her parents were talking to her (though they knew she wasn't listening and didn't particularly mind), when the large doors burst open, slamming into the walls.

In strode two figures. Both wore long black robes with large shadowy hoods, and carried a suitcase. Without a second to spare, Hermione sprang from her seat.

"RON!" she screamed, tears coming to her eyes. The cloak hood threw the eyes and forehead of the young man into shadow, but, ever observant, Hermione had spotted the mass of freckles on her old friend's chin.

Without hesitation, although the two black clad figures absolutely reeked of anger and hot rage, the taller threw open his arms and embraced his much missed friend.

"Don't cry 'Mione. I hate it when you cry," he whined as she sobbed into his chest. The other figure, this one obviously female, watched the proceedings for a moment before turning to the one table in the center of the room. She continued forward with a single minded intensity that made Sam shiver and hope that it wasn't _him_ she stopped at.

Thankfully, she strode straight to the Weasleys. Silently and menacingly, she surveyed the group, her glare (he could just feel it) landed on the matriarch, and again he shuddered.

* * *

Cassie paused as the bushy haired girl jumped from her seat and reined in the urge to close line the poor girl. Ron and told her about Hermione, and it wasn't Hermione she was here to scorch, she reminded her self. Her lips stretched into a smile when the other girl started to cry. She'd let Ron deal with that, and squashed the desire to watch him twitch. He had no idea how to deal with girls.

But, she thought, there was sure to be plenty of that in the days to come. Right now she had bigger fish to fry. And the tender smile transformed into a malevolent smirk as she turned to the one large table in the center of the room. She didn't take notice of the decorations just then. There would be time later.

The mass of red hair she spotted immediately and it didn't take long to find the plump woman with the few strands of gray hair. Cassie stood behind her for a moment, savoring the wariness that oozed from the woman. She supposed it was cruel, but she couldn't help it. It was in her nature to intimidate.

"Hello," she said sweetly. "Molly, I presume?"

"Y-yes?" The woman turned around and smiled. Despite the unease, it was a warm comforting smile that, did she not hate the woman already, would have instantly had Cassie proudly calling her 'mum.' As it was, the love and amiability present only caused her rage to boil. How could someone so obviously loving and tender turn on their own child so? It was outrageous!

"Pleasure to meet you," she continued, pulling down her hood, revealing the cornflower braids, brown eyes, and large mouth. "I'm Cassandra, Ron's girlfriend of six months."

Molly seemed to like this even more. Either she had pushed her own betrayal from her mind and was very pleased to meet one of her beloved son's girlfriends, or she was merely relieved that her son hadn't been completely alone after the world had turned on him. Cassie really didn't care which one it was, she was showing the clippings anyway.

"I have a scrapbook for you in here somewhere," she said, her voice becoming even sweeter and mocking. Molly was starting to look worried. "Let me get it," she finished.

And get it she did. She fished into her suitcase right there and then and handed the tatty binder to the older woman and turned back to her boyfriend. As much as she wanted to watch the Weasley's read the clippings and realize what pigs they'd been, it would hurt more if they were left with only that mocking tone and her retreating back.

She was the first to see the blonde wander into the room, looking as if she'd done it everyday for the last three years.

This time it was Lionel Lovegood who sprang from his seat. He however, didn't run, but take small hesitant steps towards his daughter. He'd taken five when she met him. Her blue eyes were clouded and glossy, she wasn't there, not really. And if she was she certainly wasn't seeing him, he thought.

Without a word, she shoved a book into his arms.

"Is there roast?" she asked, and took his seat without waiting for an answer. Oblivious, he looked at the book, and blinked back tears. It was an ancient book, given to Luna by her mother. The, then young girl had explicit instructions not to give the book to anyone, not even him, until she'd learned every spell, and every word it contained.

He wouldn't keep the book. He couldn't, it would return itself to her by midnight, he knew, but he would heed the warning. She was grown up now, and he couldn't keep her either.

It was a good twenty minutes after Luna's arrival and Molly's cry of anguish as she realized what the scrapbook was, when Neville walked into the Great Hall. So far Dumbledore and everyone else had been leaving the arrivals to do their own thing, as they had agreed upon the night before. Neville, however, would break the silence, and bring attention to the people the other two excommunicates had been steadfastly ignoring.

"Who the _fuck _are _they_?" He didn't exactly shout it, but after watching out for their friend in the common room for five years both Ron and Hermione's ears were attuned to his distressed voice. Following the duo's lead everybody's head turned towards Neville and then immediately to where his slightly shaking arm was pointing to. It was the Potters. Chaos reigned instantly.

Amid the shouts and angry accusations, Albus Dumbledore began to rise out of his seat arms raised in the customary 'settle-down, settle-down' pose. Thankfully, Remus beat him to it, and called for order.

"Everybody, settle down!" he shouted, "Sirius, James, and Lily's presence will be explained privately. Please, take my word that they are who they appear to be, for now."

Reluctantly, the commotion settled, but Lily, James, and Sirius received glares for the majority of dinner. Neville didn't sit down, nor lower his hand for about three minutes. Once his arm lost its strength he began tapping his foot nervously for another five minutes, before he mustered up the courage to stride up to Prof- Severus Snape, and choke out a few words.

"Professor Snape, Sir, I was wondering if you could look at something for me."

Snape appeared to be personally insulted by his former student's very presence (and indeed, he was), but raised a curious eyebrow. Perhaps time as a wanted criminal had done something for the boy. Severus had honestly believed that Neville would either be the first caught, or would die, lost in the Muggle World. Obviously, he'd been wrong, for the Longbottom was showing more courage than he ever had before.

"And what precisely would that be, Mister Longbottom?" While not exactly congenial, the Professor's tone was less than menacing. Neville took it for a good omen.

"These." With a flourish, Neville produced one of his journals, ratty, tatty, and filled with extra papers. "And a few others," he continued, his voice growing even faster with every word, "And a few potions, in my trunk." Snape raised another eyebrow, but only turned towards the notebook.

While Neville was communing with his former tormentor, Ron and Hermione were catching up. Or rather, Hermione was raving on and on about what things had been like, how much she had missed he and Harry, Sam, and how sorry she was, while Ron, tried valiantly (and, amazingly enough, successfully) to dodge any questions she might casually throw his way (there were quite a few) as Sam, his family, the Grangers, Cassandra, and the Weasley's watched on, smiling in nervous contentment. Remus and Sirius, who were halfway down the table, attempted to drop an ear in, but only picked up on a few words and phrases here and there.

They weren't terribly concerned with the other goings on in the room, anyway. They were waiting for Harry. They waited and picked at their food for a half an hour.

* * *

I have to say here and now, that I am fairly amazed. Never once have I been called a great person in a review before. It was astonishing. So thank you so much for saying so, and I hope you like this chapter. People are starting to arrive! I actually have the next chapter already typed out (like I said this fic has been sitting on my comp. for a while now) so I'm going to try and get one or two chapters ahead before I post #4. That way if things come up you people reading won't have to wait a month in between chapters.

With that in mind though, I have to say that chapter four won't be posted as quickly as 2 and 3 were. I'll try to type quickly though, I promise.


	4. Magic Wands, Magic Creatures, Magic Soup

Chapter Four

* * *

Harry, being the universe's spittoon (so far no one had corrected him for saying so), had no choice but to make a showy, dramatic entrance. Escaping the whore house was a difficult venture for those, not being blackmailed and sponsored by sick old pedophiles, and so for him it was downright dangerous. A number of the other whores were paid by their 'owner' specifically to keep the others from running. In return, their schedules were almost empty, so they made sure to be thorough. Their eyes were especially sharp on Harry, who was well liked and brought in a lot of money. The escape had cost him a black eye, a bruised neck, a broken ankle, and a bullet to the abdomen. All told he was lucky that only one of the bastards had pulled his gun and that Angela lived only three blocks away. He was even luckier that one of her older brothers was a wizard, who had gone to Salem's Academy in the States where his dad had lived, and moved to Britain after his death to be with his siblings. Wanting a quick and easy route to his mother's house, he had her connected to the Floo Network and left a small jar of Floo Powder on their mantle for his own use. So it was after a small tussle (read two on one, terribly uneven due-to-injuries, tackle match), and a bit of verbal assertion (read screaming courtesy of Angela), that the two managed to Floo to Grimmauld Place, where her brothers couldn't follow, and from there to Hogwarts Great Hall, where they arrived, more than slightly ragged and covered in soot and blood.

Again, chaos was prevalent until Remus stood to officiate. Dumbledore, wisely, hadn't done more than lean forward and place a firm on the Potters' shoulders to hold them back when he saw them jumping to their feet with the rest of Hall's occupants. Remus raced towards the front of the group and was allowed, reluctantly, to hover over the young man as Angela began to fluster about worriedly. Without a moments hesitation the werewolf called for Lily.

"Harry, you need to be healed," he said firmly in answer to the confused look he was given, surely in response to the name he had just shouted. "Ignore who casts the spells, just let them work!"

The glare continued, vague and unfocused, just as it had begun, unwavering. He did a wonderful job of ignoring his mother who bustled about healing and muttering obscenities over each injury and the blood that seeped from the hole in his right side. Her piercing green gaze flitted from the bullet wound to the ankle to the black eye to the hand shaped shadows circling his neck, furious at the sight of her son, but making not a sound above her breath for others, except perhaps Harry, to hear.

Angela didn't do quite as well. "You can fix this, right? He'll be okay? If he doesn't come out alright I will slit each and every one of your throats in the night!" She went on to issue more threats and worried inquiries, even after Ron and Hermione pulled her to the side to allow Mrs. Potter easier access to her son, and to give her a once over herself. The poor girl had blood all down the front of her shirt, matting her dark purple hair where she must have her hands through the locks, and smeared on her hands and face. Her frightened tears mixed with her black eyeliner to make disturbingly artful tracks through the blood on her cheeks. Discreetly, Hermione waved her wand and banished the mess.

Misters Weasley and Granger were physically restraining James, who had broken away from the Headmaster the second his wife reached Harry, and Sirius, who was trying to race to his godson. Both quite perturbed at being held up. The older duo won eventually, just as Lily finished and Harry (now only slightly hunched over, favoring the shot wound), attempted to calm down his friend.

"Angela," he said, firmly at first. She responded by poking him in various places as if checking for pain. All she found was annoyance which prompted her to continue, in the hopes of ridding them both of some stress with humor, but Harry grabbed at her arms immediately, not at all in the mood for games.

"Go sit down," he said.

"_Sit down?_ You dare tell me to _sit down_? Like some inattentive child!"

"_Yes_. Sit down, Angela" He was angry now, so, being intelligent as she was, Angela merely glared and turned to the table, jerking her hands from his harsher than necessary in order to make her point. Quickly, she sat down next to Luna with a conversational 'is this seat taken?' and was content to pretend to ignore everything else said for the rest of the evening.

Harry glared at her back until she pulled a salad bowl towards her and was shoveling the greens onto her plate. Stone faced, he turned to Dumbledore.

"My wand, please, _Headmaster."_ His voice was strained and furious and perfectly level. Albus almost feared answering. "…Or the _pieces." _

Finally the Headmaster stood fully, and produced a small red box from the sleeves of his robe. Silently, he came around the table and opened the box, holding it out to Harry once he reached him.

"Strangely enough," he began in almost a whisper. "None of the wands would allow themselves to be broken."

As Harry took his box, Albus moved on to the others, producing three more boxes from his enchanted sleeves. Harry stared at his wand, grimly turning it his hands, feeling it out. Ron tested his grip and grinned at Hermione, who gave him a watery smile, and Cassie, who grinned back. Neville twirled his around his fingers and happily levitated a bread roll. Ron quickly followed suit, only he chose a bowl of soup, which hovered precariously over Percy Weasley's head. Luna rolled hers between her hands and airily tucked the stick behind her ear, and continued eating her roast.

"Expecto Patronum." He said it quietly, yet again the entire room heard, their ears attuned for their friend and savior's voice, and all eyes turned to Harry, and the large silver wolf that had come from his wand. Remus had to steady himself and forced air into his lungs as he heard Hermione whisper.

"It's a werewolf." He had no idea he meant so much to Harry. He could feel tears welling behind his eyes as the ethereal specter sniffed slowly around the Hall, looking for the threat.

James and Sirius stared sadly, betrayed. Moony and Padfoot had enthusiastically told James of his son's Patronus, and now it had changed.

The stony silence was broken a few moments later when Ron let go of the soup bowl, and the uproar began. Each Weasley jumped to his or her feet, and began to yell in one form or another. They were joined by Hermione, Cassie, and Dumbledore, none of whom had any luck in quelling the infamous Weasley tempers.

"_Ronald Weasley! _WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

"WHAT'S IT LOOK LIKE I'M DOING?"

"Ron, I really don't think that was necess-"

"_That was entirely necessary! _You people can't just go around pretending you've never made mistakes!"

"WHO SAYS WE'VE NEVER –"

"MADE MISTAKES? WE'VE MADE –"

"PLENTY OF MIS –"

"_WHO ARE YOU TO TELL US HOW TO BE? YOU DON'T KNOW US!_"

"Everybody! Please, just _stop_!"

"WELL, I _DO_ KNOW YOU AND I KNOW THAT PERCY IS THE BIGGEST PRAT OF YOU ALL!"

"That doesn't mean he deserves to have beef stew dumped on his head, Ron!"

"Yes, it does!"

"GINNY!"

"Well, it does!"

* * *

On the outskirts of what amounted to a mini-mosh pit, Harry called to Dobby in a low voice.

"I don't suppose the Headmaster prepared rooms for us, did he, Dobby?" He asked. The small creature's ears wiggled as he bounced happily on the balls of his feet.

"Oh, yes, sirs Mr. Harry Potter, sir!" he exclaimed proudly, "Dobby has done, Mr. Harry Potter's room personally, he has, sir."

"Really? That's wonderful, Dobby. It really is," Harry said still clutching his side. "Can you take me there? And Angela" he added, pointing out his friend who was looking in on the Weasleys brawl with amused alarm.

Dobby took a good long look at this new friend of the 'Greatest Wizard Alive'. Harry didn't know what kind of conclusions his little green friend was drawing about his relationship with the younger girl, but he really didn't care. He'd had worse bedmates than Angela (he knew that even if he'd never shared a bed with her before – he'd slept with some horrible people) and he could probably get something worked out for her if she wanted tomorrow. Separate beds at the least.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Harry Potter, sir!"

"Thank you so much, Dobby. Just let me go get her and we'll go."

"Ange," he whispered in his friend's ear, "I need to sleep. Are you gonna come with me?"

She turned away from the show to face him, fork full of pot roast still in her mouth.

"I guess so," she grumbled, "I couldn't find my way around here by myself."

"If you want to keep eating, you can," he answered glaring at the fork still in her mouth. "Just call for Dobby when you're finished and he can show you to the room."

He pointed Dobby out and smiled at her expression. It was unlikely her brother had even ever seen a House Elf, and she would never have heard of one. Bradley rarely talked of anything to do with the magical world, not even in those few years he was a happy and eager citizen. She gasped and immediately started coughing to get the roast out of her throat. Harry thumped her a few times on the back and smiled again.

"You know you really should swallow your food before you start talking."

The purple haired girl glared at her friend, and set her fork down in distaste. The Weasleys were finally beginning to calm down with Ginny having broken the ice.

"I'm still hungry," she decided. Harry nodded and turned to go.

"Harry?" Harry turned back around.

"Hey, Hermione."

"Where are you going?" she asked, looking very worried. Again Harry smiled. It was good to see Hermione again, even worried.

"Just to bed, 'Mione. I'm exhausted." Her face softened and turned sympathetic. He had lost an awful lot of blood, and was very pale. Of course he would want to sleep.

"Oh…Well, alright, then," she said walking towards him and opening her arms for a hug. "I'll see you in the morning, okay."

He hugged her firmly, fighting the nervousness that built within him at the idea of physical contact.

"'Night."

"Sleep well, alright."

Harry turned to go again and almost groaned when he heard a light, sweet voice casually tell him goodnight, instead he turned, smiled, and returned Luna's sentiments sincerely. Honestly, he was amazed. He had smiled a lot in the last half hour, and hadn't had to fake any of them. However, Luna's attentions, nice though they were, succeeded in drawing the rest of the rooms' attention, and he was treated to a tentative chorus of goodnight's, sleep tight's, sweet dreams', and you're leavings?' mostly from people he didn't care to deal with just yet. He did get to leave though. And he did get to collapse into a wonderfully soft bed with warming spells on the sheets.

He woke slowly the next morning from a deep dreamless sleep, unconsciously savoring the weight of the blankets above him and the soft pillowing beneath him. Angela snored quietly next to him, keeping well to her side of the bed and hogging more than her fair share of the blankets if the corner he was clutching for dear life was any indication.

* * *

Hurray for chapter 4! I hope you guy and gals out there enjoyed it. Let me know what you thought! hint hint REVIEW! 


	5. Good Morning

Chapter Five

* * *

The day started with comfortable slowness, everybody waking and taking time to wonder if the night before had been no more than a dream before filtering into the Great Hall for breakfast. Not to say that everyone slept well. No, they did not. In fact, most of the people at the table that morning were grumbling and grouchy as befit those who spent the night tossing and turning and are waiting impatiently for their first cup of coffee. Sirius, James, Remus, and Lily were all downing the caffeinated wonder as quickly as possible while they stole not-so-subtle glances at the doorway and each other. Again, they found themselves nervously waiting for Harry to arrive.

Ginny Weasley was particularly vicious in the early mornings, not that it was very early, but still, morning was morning and lack of sleep was lack of sleep, and she was only on her second cup of coffee. The other red-heads all gave her a wide berth. Even the twins knew better than to badger their sister now that she had graduated and formed an addiction.

_Oh, sweet coffee_, she crooned in her mind. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

Molly Weasley busied herself with her favorite hobby – mother-henning. The clucked, and tsk'ed and quibbled on and on about how little her family was eating, or that someone needed to eat more of this and less of that, and the other Weasley all busied themselves with listening to her and following her demands with a roll of the eye or a meaningless complaint. It was business as usual.

Neville bounded in looking harried and disheveled, carrying a notebook with papers falling out and covered in his scrawling chicken-scratch handwriting. He quipped a distracted hello to the room's occupants and ignored (or didn't hear) his gran's nervous good morning. Sitting himself down next to Ginny, he pushed the plate to one side, set down his notebook and poured himself a mug of coffee, tossing in heaps of cream and sugar, oblivious to the red head's incredulous gaze.

"Want coffee with that cream and sugar?" she asked wryly.

"Just a dash," he answered groggily, without missing a beat. Ginny smiled, and returned to her breakfast.

He dished himself up a small helping of eyes and bacon and picked at it while he reviewed the notes he'd taken over the past months.

Moments later, Ron trudged in behind Cassie, who, bright eyed and bushy tailed, was craning her neck to see all the Hall's decorations at once.

"Why do we have to be up at nine again?" he asked.

"Just shut up and eat," Cassie responded, shoving him towards the table. Grumbling beneath his breath, Ron sat down and stared at his plate for a few seconds before asking where the coffee was.

The Grangers and Conners strode in as a group, lead by Hermione who was dragging Sam along by his wrist. Without a word she set herself down on Ron's right side and started dishing up two plates while Sam filled two mugs with coffee.

"So she gets to pick at you, now," Ron quipped when he noticed what Hermione was doing. Sam just smiled and shrugged.

"I thought I told you to shut up and eat." The bushy haired girl raised an eyebrow at Ron, and tried not to laugh as his ears turned a brilliant shade of red. Huffing, he spun around in his seat to glare at Cassie on his left. She smirked and started eating.

"You – Aargh!" He huffed again and filled his plate violently before shoveling the food into his mouth.

Hermione broke into a wide grin and exclaimed, "Ron, you're disgusting!" before throwing her arms around him in a rib crunching embrace.

"It's _so_ good to see you again!"

"Is goo to ee ou oo, Mione."

Rolling their eyes, Cassie, Hermione, and Ginny all admonished, "Don't speak with your mouth full!"

"Dear God, I've missed that."

There in the doorway stood Harry, Luna, and Angela. Luna was smiling faintly, seemingly even more dazed in the mornings than she was the rest of the day, while Angela tried in vain to muffle her snickers behind her hand, and Harry smiled faintly, looking weary and strained with bags beneath his eyes and a pallor complexion.

"Harry! Did you sleep alright?" His smile stretched painfully and he shrugged.

"Yeah, mate," Ron added, swallowing. "You're really pale."

"Yeah, well, that's blood loss for you Ron," Harry responded. "And I slept fine, Mione. Wonderfully even."

Nodding Ron turned back to his food while Hermione pursed her lips together in a thoughtful frown. Obviously she wanted to ask just why he was suffering from blood loss, but she restrained herself.

"Speak for yourself," Angela interjected. "You kick. I don't know why I never noticed before."

"Yeah, well, you're a blanket hog, so we're even."

"I am not!" she exclaimed indignantly.

"Yes. Yes, you are. Is there coffee?"

"Over here," Ron said, holding up the pot.

"Joy of joys," he groaned happily, taking the pot and choosing a seat.

"So are you two like, together?" Cassie asked, glancing between Harry and his purple haired companion. The green eyed boy snorted.

"Hey!" again Angela was indignant.

"Angie doesn't lean my way," he explained. "I'm just a stray she took in."

"Ah, I see."

Ignoring the looks sent their way with practiced ease, Harry and Angela dished up their own breakfasts.

"Harry, if you're her pet, shouldn't you have a collar?"

The green eyed boy froze, hearing his dead godfather's voice. Angela choked on her coffee, thrown immediately into throws of laughter interspersed with fits of coughing due to the liquid in her lungs.

"Oh, shut up," her companion told her as he stood. Remus watched nervously as he made his way over to Sirius, and tried to convey those thoughts to James and Lily. They weren't paying him any attention, though, being far more focused on hiding their own joy and nervousness at finally being acknowledged by their son.

Sirius had effectively jumped to his death in the Department of Mysteries, not only by following the rest of the Order in the first place, but for being so arrogant as to taunt his Death Eater cousin. Both Harry and Remus had only begun expressing their anger at him for just that when the boy had been charged with murder. Harry was either going to apologize for getting Padfoot killed, or he was going to beat the crap out of him. Neither action was one to be celebrated.

James watched as Padfoot's roguish smirk was offset by the anxiousness in his eyes, and Harry Potter sauntered over to them slowly. For the first time, he got a good look at his son and felt a weight lift off of his heart. He was very pale and had James' own fly-away hair that fell into his mother's piercing green eyes. His right eyebrow was pierced twice, and there was a silver stud in his nose, and a small hoop running through his lower lip. There was a trail of fire tattooed down his left arm, ending at the elbow, and another tattoo peaking around the curve of his neck. His clothes were all black and his pants tucked into a pair of steel toed boots. He looked like a delinquent, albeit a well dressed one. James breathed easier at the sight. He wouldn't have to hate his friends.

"Sirius," the young man breathed. "It's good to see you again."

Smiling in relief, Sirius stood, intending to embrace his godson. Remus cringed, and Harry's right hook hit with great accuracy, breaking the man's nose with a sickening crunch and a spray of blood.

"YOU BASTARD! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? RUNNING OFF TO THE MINISTRY LIKE THAT AND PLAYING WITH YOUR BITCH OF A COUSIN, GETTING YOURSELF PUSHED BEHIND THAT DAMN VEIL! YOU CARELESS IDIOT!"

"What the hell, Harry? I WENT TO SAVE YOUR SORRY ASS!"

"LETTING YOUR GUARD DOWN WHEN FIGHTING DEATH EATERS IS NOT A RESCUE TACTIC, SIRIUS!"

"YOU'RE THE ONE WHO WENT TO THE MINISTRY IN THE FIRST PLACE!"

"_Sirius!_" Remus cried angrily. It had taken an entire summer to convince Harry that the DoM incident hadn't been his fault entirely, and his friend was about undo all of his hard work. What a homecoming this was.

"I WAS FIFTEEN!" Harry screeched indignantly. "I WAS TRICKED, I WAS LIED TO, AND I WAS ARROGANT! NOBODY BOTHERED TO TELL ME THEY WERE CHECKING ON YOU BEFORE THEY WANDERED OFF! NOBODY BOTHERED TO TELL ME TOM COULD GET INTO MY HEAD!" He paused for a moment and seemed to shrink in on himself, hunching over and glaring at the floor so that his hair hid most of his face. "Your death was not my _fucking_ fault!"

Sirius gaped at the man in front of him in surprise. The rest of the room was silent and full of spectators, all of them either watching the exchange in shock or pity or confusion.

"Harry," Remus began, intending to reassure him.

"Of course it's not your fault," Sirius interrupted. "It's nobody's damn fault."

"I know," Harry insisted. "But you're the only one I haven't yelled at yet."

At the other end of the table, Ron, Ginny, and the twins all snorted and tried to stifle their laughter.

"Well, did you have to punch me too?" Padfoot whined. This time Remus laughed, and shook his head.

"You're not the only one, Padfoot," he said. "I took my fair share of hits, and Severus took many times that. I believe Dumbledore also lost a few knick-knacks, and trinkets in his office."

"You trashed Dumbledore's office, Harry?" The young man in question merely shrugged at the outraged cry.

"What can I say, except the man has the worst timing in the world. I offered to pay for everything I broke."

"Bad timing?" Lily asked. Surprisingly, Harry answered her, as opposed to pretending she didn't exist, though he refused to even glance in her direction.

"Ask him. I don't feel like explaining. Now, I'm going to go eat. And to answer your question, Sirius, there is no way in hell that anyone is getting me into a collar ever again."

Angela started laughing again, and Harry told her to shut up, looking supremely uncomfortable.

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